But
by Grindhousefreak
Summary: Luke/Noah. Just a small short story that takes place some time after the events of As The World Turns.


Preface: Well, first of all I should say that, of course, I don't own the characters of Luke Snyder and Noah Mayer but the creaters and publishers of As The World Turns do. I didn't write this to make any money with it and I surley don't get any money for it. I just wrote it because I wanted to and it was fun.

I should also say that I am a 23-year old guy from Germany so please don't mind my language, I tried my best as a non-native. Also, I didn't really watch As The World Turns but rather a chanel on youtube that I guess most poeple who read this know, and I really liked Luke's and Noah's story. And I have to admit that I wasn't quite happy with how things ended there, so I just thought, since I like to write, give it a try and write something. I don't know if it is any good or if anyone will like it but I like it and I would be very happy to hear what you think. So, have fun.

**But**

The sky is getting dark again. Just like it did yesterday. And the day before that. And the day before that. And the day before that. For almost a whole week now, the colour blue seems to have vanished over Oakdale. Instead there is this pale and muddy greyish-non-white lurking above the town that swallows up all sunlight and vomits misty shadows and endless streams of rain. Almost as if the sky was sad itself, as if it was crying over something it lost, something that was pretty important to it, something precious. But then again, that is a very stupid thing to think, isn't it? It's just rain, that's all. Salty water, framed in little drops that cover everything with a thin, wet and transparent skin that is so unlucky as to be out there without any shelter.

Like me. But, no, that isn't actually true. I do have some shelter, I'm sitting under the porch in front of our house in one of grandma's old and huge chairs that always make you feel like you're sinking in the fabric when you take a seat. I've been sitting here for about two hours now. Or four? I don't really know to be honest. And I don't really care to be a bit more honest. Time somehow lost it's meaning during the last couple of days. And weeks. And months. At some point you just don't perceive them as passing days any more that all have it's own beginning in the morning and ending in the night. It's just one big tenacious mass. When you're lonely, that is.

And I am lonely. Actually I'm also all alone right now. The house behind me is completely empty, everyone is gone somewhere. On vacation. Or on a business trip. Or on a trip to visit some relatives. It's not like they didn't ask me to come with them. In fact, they almost begged me to accompany them. It would be good for me, they were saying. It would help me to get things strait. To get my head out of the clouds. To get to terms with it. But I said no. Again. I use to say no a lot these days. It's easier to refuse than to admit. That is something I know all about. Of course, I had to say it about a dozen times before they would go without me and I could see in their eyes that they didn't like it to leave me here but then again, there is only one person that knows how to make me come when I don't want to. And this person is not here. They know that and I know that.

So here I am, having the whole house for me and just for me. Some time ago, I would have invited some friends to watch some movies, eat pizza and fool around. Or to go swimming in the pond. But I don't do that any more. Not because I don't want to, it's just that I can't sit on this couch and look on the screen without the automatic urge to grab his arm and put it around me and whenever I stand in front of the pond I feel like I can hear the backdoor slam shut and the steps of his naked feet on the path behind me. But the only thing I grab is plain air and when I turn around there is no one.

I never really thought that I could fell lonely here in Oakdale. I mean, of course there were times when I felt lonely here but that was different. I remember that I actually explained it to him some time after I met him for the first time in one of the offices of WOAK. It had to do with me being gay and out and obviously the only one in this town to which these two terms could be applied. I was lonely concerning romantic and sexual matters and I was quite upset because it was so easy for a 'normal' guy to go and find someone whereas I always had to poke around with silly questions to find out whether a guy I found attractive was at least into guys to begin with. But I wasn't literally lonely. I had my family, my friends, my home.

But now I do feel lonely. Even when they are around me. Of course, I know why that is. And they do, too. It's all because of him. Noah.

For Christ's sake, even mentioning his name is like an evil shot right through me. It brings back so many memories and so many questions. It all seems so complicated and messed up but it is quite simple, really. He pushed me away and I didn't pull him back to me. He asked me to come with him and I said my favourite word: No. So he left and I stayed. That's it. Explained in two little sentences, though it feels like one could make a whole script out of it. Maybe for one of those tacky soap operas that I use to watch lately without really watching.

And then, there is Reid, of course. Or, there was Reid, to be precise. He is gone, too. But he won't come back, which is to some extent even a bit ironic because I talked to him and I finally ended it whereas I never talked to Noah again. And that really IS kind of ironic because to Noah I actually COULD talk, he is still alive. Reid couldn't answer when I was explaining myself to him. That was three months ago, at the lake where he found his last resting place. It wasn't very fair of me and the things I told him weren't exactly what one could call romantic but if nothing else, they were true.

Yes, I fell in love with him and yes, when he died it nearly killed me, too, but...

Well, that basically tells it already. There is a 'but' and there will always be a 'but' and this 'but' will always be linked to the same person. Noah.

I know that one should never say never and there will always be the what-if-whispering somewhere in the back of my mind but I just know that there will never be someone like Noah in my life. Or maybe I don't really know it but I want myself to know and that is more or less the same, isn't it?

It is not very nice to say that but Reid never stood a chance against him. He did make me smile and laugh and he made me feel safe, too, but even his best declarations, even his last goodbye didn't stir me up as Noah did with just one glimpse of his eyes. It's quite telling that it is the living man who keeps me awake in the night these days and not the dead one.

So, why am I here? Why am I not with the man I love? That is a very good question. The answer is not so good. He doesn't want me any more.

I once wrote a script, back then at WOAK. Maddie and Noah were doing this cellphone-project and wanted me to write small little monologues and texts that they would turn into small video fragments. It never had a real title but for me it was the story of 'The invisible girl'. Actually, it should have been 'The invisible boy' since I was writing about my own feelings towards Noah but as I said before when falling in love with a man girls do have better chances of acceptance in this world than other boys. Noah once asked me if it wouldn't be better to make the girl cry in one scene and I said – guess what? - no. Crying does not make anything easier, although people always babble about how well it helps and how it cleans your soul and all that junk. So I said no. The invisible girl wouldn't cry. And the invisible boy wouldn't either.

A few times I thought about writing again. Writing down all the things that happened. How I met him and realized what I felt for him. How I finally became visible for him. How we always fought for the other one and for the relationship we had. It would surely make a great piece of scripture. It would have got everything in it what one could ask for. Passion, fear, love. Psychopaths, fictitious marriages, dramatic accidents and injuries, jealousy, punches. Even a little bit of crime and detective work. And death. Let's not forget about that. It's hard to imagine that this actually happened. If it wouldn't have happened to me I surely would think it would be the making of some weird writer. Sometimes I wish it was. Then I could just call him or her and tell them to write me and Noah back together. Just erase the last couple of months and write something like those typical dramatic Hollywood-blockbuster-endings. How Noah would finally drive to the airport to got to L.A. How I would finally realize what he means to me. How I would try to call him but he wouldn't answer. How I would just get someone's car and drive to the airport, too, maybe even driving through a red light and being stopped by the police. How I would explain my situation and how the officer, a nice, young lady, would drive me with the emergency lights on to the airport. Of course, I would be a bit too late, he would already be in the gangway but I would run to one of the ticket counters, grab the microphone and shout it all out, my feelings, my mistakes, my regrets and my love and he would hear that and come back and everyone would applause and we would kiss.

Yeah, I know, it's horribly cheesy but you know what? I wouldn't mind if it would happen. If I could just get him back I would cope with all the cheesiness in the world.

But that is not how the world turns. In the real world no one says the right things at the right time. In the real world no one just makes up his mind, buys a ticket and goes to L.A. to confess his love. In the real world there is only waiting. And thinking. And hesitating. And finding excuses. It's annoying, it really is, but that's how it is. And the word 'forever' has no meaning in the real world. In movies they use it all the time. There they swear eternal love and promise that they will be waiting forever and ever and even a bit longer. In reality there is only a phone call after seven months, five minutes of stupid, useless stammering and hours and hours of waiting for an answer. That never comes. Which is an answer actually.

In fact I am still waiting. Ever since I did that phone call four days ago and left this verbal nonsense about regret and longing and missing and loneliness and feeling lost on his answering machine I am waiting. Desperately. For anything. A call. A letter. An E-mail. A text message. Anything. But none. Apparently this time it was Noah's turn for saying my favourite word.

I am not mad at him. I was but I never was really good at being mad at Noah. It usually just took a second of looking at his guilty and worried face to make all the madness end in smoke. Now I am just sad about it. About being invisible again. Sometimes I wonder if he has found someone in L.A. Someone better. Or cuter. Or funnier. Or just not as complicated and stubborn and messed up as me. Someone he can tell all about his movie. Someone he can watch when he can't sleep. Someone he can make love to in this comforting and satisfying way he is capable of. The thought makes me want to curl up and die. And scream. A couple of nights ago I even dreamed about killing this person, though I don't even know if such a person even exists. It's weird. But it's Noah.

See, there is the 'but' again.

It's getting cold now. I should go inside. I'm just wearing old jeans and a shirt, not even socks. I will surely catch a cold if I don't but I don't want to. I don't care. I am already sick.

A car is coming. I can see the lights coming closer, getting bigger. I wonder who that could be. I'm expecting nobody and the first who will come back will be mum tomorrow. I can see a small sign on the car's roof. It says 'taxi'.

I know what you're thinking. I'm thinking it, too. Maybe he wasn't in his apartment when I called. Maybe he was on a business trip himself. Maybe he just got home yesterday and checked his answering machine. Maybe he couldn't get an earlier flight. Maybe he was so excited and hasty to get to the airport in L.A. that he forgot his own cell phone or maybe just his battery died. Maybe there is no other one. Maybe there never will be. Maybe sometimes reality works like a mid-morning daily soap opera. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Such a wonderful and painful word.

The taxi drives past. Of course it does. Probably some visitors or relatives of our neighbours down the road. Very likely some visitors or relatives of our neighbours down the road. Not Noah. I should have known. I did know. My mind did, that is. My heart is still a naïve and hopeful brat. It will never learn. It will always wish for him to come. It will always be disappointed. Quite tragic, isn't it?

I think I should go inside anyway. I haven't eaten anything today, I should make me some sandwiches or soup. Some tea. Not that it would help or anything but it will keep me busy for some time, keep me from thinking. And wishing.

As ever when I enter this house and don't hear anything at all it creeps me out a little bit. This house isn't meant for silence. It's always noisy in here. Because someone is laughing, or having an argument or celebrating something. Now it's like no one lives here. Stupid, but still creepy.

I go into the kitchen and brew me a cup of tea. Of course I peek over to the telephone and the answering machine. Of course I hope that there will be a red, digital One on the display. Of course there isn't.

Spontaneously I decide not to eat anything. At least not now. I would throw most of it away, anyhow. Sipping at the tea I make my way to the table. I sit down and pull up my sleeves so they cover up my hands so I can put them around the cup without burning them. I use to do this since I was a little kid whenever I was drinking something hot. Or felt lonely. Or both.

Is raining quite heavily now outside. I wonder if it ever rains like this in Los Angeles. Ridiculous, I know. Of course it does rain there, why wouldn't it? It just seems odd to imagine that it could be as devastating and sad as it is here right now anywhere where he is.

There's a knocking at the door. Four hard and loud raps. I almost spill my tea.

Then again. Seven raps this time. I put down the cup and stand up. Needless to say who I think it is. I think that every single time when someone knocks on the door. Or when the phone rings. Or when cars come down our road. Or when there a envelopes or cards in the mailbox. Or when I see that I got E-mails. I think it all the frigging time. It's so exhausting. And painful. It's like someone pierces a dagger through your chest and turns it. It's like dying.

I prepare myself for the disappointing truth, for yet another not-Noah to stand there clueless about how much I hate him or her for being whoever they are. At least I try to. Then I open the door.

It's him.

Of course, it's not him. I close my eyes and choke a sigh, then I open them again.

It's him.

He just stands there. One fist still up. He's wearing jeans and a red shirt. And a black jacket. His hair is still black, just a little bit longer, almost imperceptibly. But I notice that. Of course I do.

It's him.

I don't know what to do. Or to say. I feel a bit numb to be honest. And I think I forgot how to blink.

"Luke, I'm so sorry for being so late but you see, I was in Pasadena for three days to meet some guys from the studio and I just got back late yesterday and I couldn't get a flight and then this lady from the airline called and said that there was a seat available because the previous owner had a car accident or something and I had to be there in like ten minutes and I was so in a rush that I completely forgot to call and I left my cell phone, I don't even packed, I just went there and then I wanted to call when I landed but because of this stupid storm the landlines around here don't work or something so I got a taxi and this dumb moron of a driver drove past your house and then it took him like forever to find a side road so he could turn and..."

He is talking so fast that I nearly understand anything but that doesn't matter.

It's him.

"You're soaking wet."

He stops and looks a bit confused.

"What?"

I look him up and down and I bet it looks like I'm about to cry but I won't. I will swallow it. As I always do. As I always did in the past couple of months. But this time is the last time. I'm visible again. I've always been.

"I said you're soaking wet."

He looks still puzzled, in that adorable way that only he is capable of and then he smiles.

That's all it takes. I step forward and I throw my arms around him. I don't care that he is wet and cold. I don't care that we haven't seen each other for half a year. All I care about is that he is here, right now.

He immediately puts his arms around me like he always did. He pulls me close, buries his face in my hair. I can feel him taking a deep breath, pulling me even closer. Then he lifts up my face and looks into my eyes. Just one glimpse and all is said. All except for...

"I missed you. I fucking missed you."

And then we do what we can do best. We kiss. Not forever. But long enough. Besides, it is really cold out here. It's time to go inside. And to bring a bit of noise back into the house.

It's him.

That is what I keep thinking over and over again as I watch his naked body lying next to me, witnessing the last drops of sweat dry on his chest and the small smile on his lips.

Of course, it's him.

I should have known. And somehow I did know. My heart did, that is. My mind is still a wary and cowardly brat. It will never learn. It will always doubt. Quite annoying, isn't it?

Of course, there will be talking. Of course, there will be separation again, there will be waiting again, but we will handle that. We always did and we always will. That may not be the way the real world turns but that's how our world turns.

See, I told you, there is always a 'but' when it comes to Noah.


End file.
